


The Books That I Keep by My Bed Are Full of Your Stories

by Harlow R (harlowrd)



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-29
Updated: 2013-05-29
Packaged: 2017-12-13 07:50:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,396
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/821816
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/harlowrd/pseuds/Harlow%20R
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ned and Lyanna swap bodies at the moment of her death. Written for a prompt at the asoiafkinkmeme community on LJ.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Books That I Keep by My Bed Are Full of Your Stories

It is the ultimate sacrifice, and the mere thought of it will fill her heart with a bitter amalgam of guilt and love for many years afterwards.

Magic is supposed to be dead, long forgotten; history that has been touched by an edge of fable for many years. The maesters frown upon talk of it, and every noble child in Westeros grows up knowing about the definite extinction of dragons. Lyanna and her brothers were no different – until Ned returned from the Eyrie with a queer amulet around his neck and a guarded face whenever asked about it.

He confessed the truth to her one night – they were close as children, and it filled her with a sweet sense of familiarity to get her favourite big brother back. He told her the secret he wouldn't tell another soul; a secret even Robert ignored: that one night, while hunting with Robert, deep in the woods of the Vale, a tiny woman had grabbed his sleeve and slipped the delicate string around his neck as he bent down, whispering about blood, fate, and sacrifice. She disappeared so suddenly, he said, that if not for the physical proof of the encounter against his chest he might start believing he dreamed it. Lyanna stared curiously at the object, touched it when Ned permitted it. In her head, she heard Old Nan's voice, talking about the Children of the Forest and the old gods of the North.

Now, as she stares at her own lifeless body in the bloody bed, the amulet lying innocently next to the pale skin, Lyanna feels her chest tighten with the full weight of her brother's actions.

She brings a hand – _her brother's hand_ , she notices dizzily – to her throat ( _her brother's throat_ ), takes a step backwards; nearly stumbles around feet much larger than she's accustomed to, knees buckling under a weight she's not used to carrying. Her face itches from the unfamiliar beard that covers it; she smells her own sweat, very male, mixing with the scent of blood and of the roses on the table. As she reaches for the wall to support herself, she misjudges the distance and hits the back of her hand painfully against the stone. It is enough to trigger the prickling of tears behind her eyes, but they are less due to the pain than to desperation over the situation she finds herself in.

She was dying. She remembers the pain, the feeling of life draining away from her body; she remembers the relief to see Ned before she went; she remembers begging him to protect her babe, to shield her son from Robert...

Lyanna's eyes dart to the other side of the huge bed, suddenly aware of the silence. _My son!_ The bundle of blankets is motionless, and for a second her heart sinks. She walks around the bed as quickly as she dares in her new body, prying the soft white cloth away from his tiny face as she sits on the mattress.

Huge grey eyes stare up at her. He is quiet, his little face almost solemn; she cradles him in her arms and wonders why he isn't crying, then realises she doesn't have the milk to feed him even if he were. A new sort of panic grips her chest at the realisation. _Ned, what have you done?_

She hears hesitant footsteps near the door, then looks up to find Howland Reed's face peering around it. "My lord?" There is a look of infinite sadness when his eyes fall upon the dead body on the bed. She is touched, and nearly forgets her predicament for a moment. A million thoughts swarm her mind and she wonders how much to tell him. _He will think me crazy. They will confine me to a cell and Winterfell will fall on Benjen's shoulders._ Then, another wave of panic washes over her stomach. _Winterfell._ She is Lord of Winterfell now; Warden of the North. The despair must have shown on her face, because Reed gives her a concerned look and Lyanna can't help but blurt out the whole truth to him.

(It chills her blood to hear her brother's voice coming out of her throat.)

He doesn't look as if he thinks her crazy, which is surprising; he only nods thoughtfully, picking up the now useless amulet, and his eyes seem more concerned than ever when he meets her gaze again. _He understands,_ she thinks, _he realises the gravity of this._ "What of the babe, my lady?" She looks down at her son again, now asleep in her arms.

"I shall take him with me, as I intended Ned to do. Only...no one may know of his true origins. If Robert..." She trails off, but Howland Reed nods, understanding. "I shall claim him as my–– as Ned's bastard son. No one can know the truth," she repeats, and Reed nods again.

"He will need milk, my lady."

"Yes." It is a queer and unwelcome feeling, being physically unable to feed her own son – just as it feels queer (although not unwelcome) to be well and ready to travel after hours of painful labour. "Yes, I must find him a wet nurse." She feels lost for a moment.

"We shall likely find one at Starfall, my lady."

Lyanna looks up. "Starfall?"

"It is the closest castle, my lady. Lord Eddard mentioned we should head there after rescuing you."

"Of course." She stands, still lost but pressured by the need to feed her son and do something about the corpse on the bed. "We must take m–– t-the body to rest at Winterfell." _It was what I wanted, when I believed I was dying._ "It's what my brother would have wanted."

On the ride to Starfall, Lyanna struggles to feel more at home in her brother's body, riding with one leg on each side and a baby on one arm. The irony does not escape her, and she is torn between a bitter laugh and bitter tears. _I always wanted to ride as my brothers did._ It suddenly occurs to her that she isn't nearly as skilled at sword fighting as Ned, and she gives a silent prayer to the old gods that their journey north is as uneventful as possible. Then, she schools her features. Ned doesn't look always close to tears; he is serious and solemn. She must do her brother's body justice; it is his gift to her, an unimaginably valuable and heavy gift, one whose consequences she hasn't even fully understood yet, and she must honour it.

"Who will you claim is the babe's mother, my lord?" Reed started calling her 'my lord' after they left the tower, and as strange as it was to hear it, Lyanna recognised the necessity for the change. For the world, she is now Eddard Stark.

"I...I don't know." Who could have believably been her brother's lover? And hidden such a pregnancy?

"What...what shall you tell your lady wife?"

Something in Reed's eyes reveals he is not referring to a hypothetical, future wife. Dread drenches her insides anew. "I have a lady wife?"

"You wed Lady Catelyn Tully less than a year ago."

_Brandon's betrothed._ She supposes it makes sense, as Ned is Lord of Winterfell now. She doesn't want to think it, so as to avoid panicking, but her brain slips: _I am Lord of Winterfell. I am Lady Catelyn's husband,_ it continues, _her **husband**. And I have burdened Ned with a bastard child._ Ned, whose honour was impeccable. Ned, who was the only man Lyanna knows who would _never_ father a bastard son. _I have besmirched his reputation forever._ It is the only way, she knows, but that doesn't make it hurt any less.

Howland Reed's voice pulls her out of her thoughts. "Have you named him, my lord?"

Lyanna looks down at her boy's face. His hair – dark, thank the gods old and new – brushes his delicate forehead in the breeze and she adjusts the blankets around him to shield him better. Several names pop into her mind – Rickard, Brandon, _Rhaegar_ – but she rejects them all. _I must be Ned. I am him now. I shall be Ned Stark for the rest of my days. This is his son, not Lyanna's. What would he name him?_

"Jon," she finally says. "His name is Jon Snow."


End file.
